


The skye will never change

by EvanlynDurin00



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanlynDurin00/pseuds/EvanlynDurin00
Summary: The world has changed. Chaos and violence reigns. The old beliefs have been discarded, for who still cares for them? Yet, in Paris, a rebellion looms. There are people who want to return life to what it should be. It makes for dangerous times and it is here this story starts.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

President John F. Kennedy of the USA once said: “Mankind must put an end to war or war will put an end to mankind.” In the year 2164, this became true. World War III broke out and transcended all other wars in human history when it came to the damages and consequences. Countries attacked with nuclear weapons and whole races were wiped out. Cities crumbled to dust and people perished in seas of fire. But humankind is strong. Survival became the number one instinct and reigned supreme everywhere. When there was nothing left to destroy and the war had finally passed, the world was in chaos. Not a single civilization had been left standing, but that didn’t mean there were no survivors. Granted, they were few and many of them died from exposure to dangerous chemicals. Yet, in the years that followed, humankind slowly began to rebuild itself. 

In these years a discovery was made. A new sort of humans had emerged. Humans with gifts, special abilities they had gained after exposure to the nuclear weapons. They were more capable of surviving in this new world and people were quick to appoint them leaders. Tribes were formed, but they kept to themselves. If humankind had learned anything from the horror that was World War III, it was that violence had to be avoided at all costs. It brought nothing but misery and death. A name was given to the leaders. They were called the Attuned. 

More years passed and new civilizations began to emerge. As they did, it became clear that history has a habit of repeating itself. There will always be people who desire power but are not meant for it. When they cannot have it, they will resort to the most atrocious things to obtain it. In various civilizations, rebellion against the leaders arose and eventually, the Attuned were overthrown. In their place came humans who waged war against other civilizations, causing the return of violence and chaos. They turned on their old leaders, calling them mutants and shunning them. Life became dark and harsh for the Attuned. They were hunted down, tortured and often executed. 

Some of them went into hiding. Others went against their beliefs and joined the new leaders, gaining power of their own in return. Once more, the world descended into chaos and darkness. Violence and madness reigned. 

But now, there is a new rebellion looming. A plot to right the world and return life to what it should be. These are dangerous times. And it is here that this story starts.


	2. The last of the real ones

Paris was not what one would call a safe city. Its’ structure consisted of a small centre, with expanding circles around it. The centre was beautiful, with great mansions and lush parks. Here was where the ruler of the city and his closest confidants lived. In the circle around it were towering buildings, all of them looking out on the centre. The rich businessmen and their families lived here. A great glass dome had been build over the centre and first circle. It was designed to keep the ugliness and poverty out. Guards were stationed at the gates leading to the other circles, to make sure no-one went where they did not belong. 

There were seven more circles. The bigger the circle was, the worse the living conditions there were. The outmost circle was called the Ghetto. People died daily there and the cause was almost always unknown as there were no doctors available. Poverty and violence reigned here. Smog hung heavily in the air, making it hard to see anything. Vile water from the sewers and blood coated the streets, turning them slippery. The stench in the Ghetto was unbearable for anyone not born in these conditions.   
Streetlights did not exist, so when it became dark, all the inhabitants of the Ghetto made sure they were inside. For when darkness arrived, monsters came out to play. Sirens and screams were permanent fixtures of a night in the Ghetto. 

Tonight, a single figure made its way down the main street. The figure carried a old-school electrical torch in one hand, slowly searching the way to their destination. Every time a siren sounded, the figure would turn off the torch and press themselves against a wall. Then, when the sounded faded away, they would continue on their journey.   
Just before the end of the main street, the figure turned down left, entering a narrow gap between two buildings. It led into a completely deserted alley, with only a stone wall at the end. The figure put their torch away and knocked on the wall, before whispering something against it. An opening appeared, allowing the figure in before closing again without single sound. 

******  
Where once a house had stood, it was now only a pile of charred wood and ash. A strong smell of burning flesh hung in the air, which told the crowd someone had perished in the fire. A few people had tried to douse the flames and they had been able to stop them from spreading to the other houses and make even more victims. 

Already, there were whispers. Some said that the inhabitant of the house had been a victim of last night’s raid. Others swore it had just been a fire gone out of control. But one or two said it was murder. They claimed that an oppressed mutant had lived there and had rebelled at last. 

These last rumours were what worried a few people. Mutants were hunted, everyone knew that. In the Ghetto, every parent’s greatest fear was that their child was born a mutant. For all knew that a raid would come, which resulted in the taking of the child and often the killing of the family. Which was why mutant children were taught to oppress their abilities. If they could pass off as normal, no one would notice and the family could live. But now it turned out that oppressing mutants could be dangerous. Apparently, they could turn against their parents and kill them. 

A single figure detangled themselves from the crowd and made their way into an alley. There, another figure was waiting. 

‘Report.’

‘The ruse worked. Rumours of murder are spreading as we speak. The people will be even more afraid now.’

‘Well done. But where is the boy?’

‘We…lost him.’

‘Fool! You must find him at once, do you hear me? His potential must not be lost to us. Go out there and don’t return until you find the boy!’

‘Understood.’  
******  
He had found a narrow alley in one of the backstreets. His feet stumbled, shaky legs trying to support him even though they couldn’t. One of his hands leaned against the wall, only to find it slick with some sort of liquid. Judging from the metallic smell in the air, it was probably blood. The realisation forced a wave of nausea to wash over him. 

His hand bumped against something and it caused his feet to trip. He slid down to the ground, soaking his clothes and making him shiver. Leaning his head back against the wall, he tried to clear his mind. He knew the symptoms, knew what was coming. It was no use to try and stop them. All he could was try to ride it out. 

The dizziness hit him unexpectedly, his hands bracing against the wall. His breath stuttered, sometimes disappearing altogether and leaving him gasping for air. He could feel his heart beating frantically, attempting to pump blood through his body. The pounding in his head was agonizing. Then his body flared up with heat and he felt true agony. Gasps of pain tore themselves from his throat, along with heavy panting. 

His fingers desperately clawed at the wall, searching for a relief from the pain. A tingling sensation spread rapidly through his hands, heat burning the skin from his palms. He forced them into the vile smelling water covering the ground. The smell of burned skin reached his nose and he dry-heaved. 

*****  
Twilight had arrived, the little light in the Ghetto already retreating. People had returned to their homes, boarding up the doors and windows. In one of the outmost streets, three figures could be seen. One of them was crouching next to the ruins of a house, outstretched hand hovering over the pile of ash. After a few minutes, the figure joined the other two. 

‘What did you see?’

‘A boy. One of us. He’s still out here somewhere, very afraid.’

‘Can you see him?’

‘No, his traces are non-existent. Probably a suppressed one.’

One of the figures let out a low growl. The one who had spoken first laid a calming hand on their shoulder. 

‘We will find the boy. Before they do.’


End file.
